


Disinhibition and Inhibition

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drunken sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt feelings, M/M, Regret, Silence, Strippers, drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-10 15:33:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6991363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drunken night out leads to a serious case of disinhibition, but inhibition fills the flat the following morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drunk

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got a back catalogue of 100 stories, so feel free to get lost within them. In 2016, we'll be slowing the pace a little, but we hope we've got enough to keep you entertained in between postings. **We hope you'll subscribe.**
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and liking and being a great community!

Sherlock was having a difficult time getting the key in the door. He first tried to put it in upside down, and then he got the angle wrong three different times. It was really pure luck when he finally got the door unlocked. He pushed it open and stepped through, stumbling a little as he did.

"Shh," he said to John. "Stop shouting or you'll wake her up."

John snorted a laugh. "What? You're the one...ele...elephanting...stomping like an elephant," he said, the words slightly slurred. 

"I am not an elephant," Sherlock said dreadfully seriously before laughing. He dramatically put his hand over his mouth and did his best to make it up the stairs to the flat.

John followed, holding on very tightly to the hand rail. "That girl liked you," he said. "She did one...one of those dances for free..."

"Yes," Sherlock said, opening the door and stumbling through. "That is why I asked her to marry me and why tomorrow we are flying off to Las Vegas to make it legal. It's a shame that no one fell in love with you, but perhaps it's because you are such a sloppy drunk."

"I'm not stomping," John pointed out. "You are."

"But you're the one who was drooling," Sherlock said, struggling to get his arms out of his coat.

"Mmm," he smiled. "I'll be up for a bit thinking about it."

"Disgusting," Sherlock said, slowly making his way to the kitchen. "I can barely excuse Lestrade's behaviour but I suppose he's allowed a little stupidity as it's his birthday...apparently behaving stupidly is what people do to celebrate. But it's not your birthday, John, so you should have maintained a little more dignity."

John huffed at the insult. "You know what else I'll be thinking about?" He giggled to himself.

"Tits?" Sherlock asked.

John laughed even more. "You dancing!"

"I did not," Sherlock said. He'd finally managed to the kettle going and now he was working on finding two clean mugs.

"I know. But I'm going to imagine it anyway and you can't stop me." John stuck his tongue out.

"Don't turn it rude," Sherlock said. "I'm actually quite a good dancer so don't spoil it by imagining my gyrating around a pole and if you do, try to limit your production of drool, please."

"No pole. Maybe on me," he said without thinking. 

"I'm not going to be gyrating on someone so drunk he can barely stand up," Sherlock said, turning back toward the counter. "There's something wrong with this kettle," he mumbled as he touched the side. "Oh no, wait, it's boiled . . . god, that's hot," he said, shaking his hand a little before pouring the water into the mugs.

John moved closer to Sherlock, stopping just an arm's length away. "Hot...yeah," he murmured, sighing loudly. 

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock asked. "Do you want this tea or not?" He turned around and looked at him. "Are you going to be sick? Don't be sick because . . . I'll get sick and both of us should not be sick in the kitchen."

"No, I won't get sick," John said. He looked up surprised as if just realising how close they were. 

Sherlock looked closely at John. "You look strange . . . handsome," he said.

"I think I...I feel...stuff," John mumbled. He touched Sherlock's thin waist. "This is a nice shirt..."

"It is a nice shirt," Sherlock said, leaning back against the worktop. "It feels good, doesn't it?" He let one of his hands move up John's arm. 

John nodded. "Could be...more...better," he continued, watching Sherlock's fingers. He had nice hands -- why hadn't John noticed before?

"More better doesn't make sense, John," Sherlock said. "You're talking rubbish." He reached out and grabbed John's hips, pulling his body towards him. "Are you going to keep talking all night?"

"Not more better...just...more...and better," John rambled. Then his brain processed Sherlock's question, and he shook his head. He leaned up and kissed Sherlock's mouth because it seemed like that was the logical thing to do in order to stop talking. 

Sherlock kissed John. He never had before -- though he'd thought of it once or twice -- and now he was and there was nothing and everything in his head. Then he started to feel a little dizzy so he held John tighter even as they both began to tip to the side a little. He tried to steady them but instead pulled him into his bedroom, falling with John onto the bed.

John scrambled to get on top of Sherlock, kissing him harder and more breathlessly than before. His hands moved all over Sherlock's torso. Sherlock moved his own hands up underneath John's shirt, scratching lightly on the skin of his back. He bit John's lower lip softly. The air in the room felt warm and thick. John moaned softly, his mind sobered a bit by the intense heat in the room, the heat between them. 

Sherlock pushed himself up a bit and then turned them over, crawling over John, pulling at his shirt. "Take it off," he said as he scrambled to get the buttons open.

John pulled his jumper off and worked at the buttons on his own shirt, watching Sherlock's fingers moving swiftly. He was panting softly, smiling up at Sherlock as they both worked to get their shirts off. 

"No drooling," Sherlock smiled before crashing into John's mouth again. He pressed their hips together, feeling John's erection against his own. "Fuck," he mumbled, dropping his mouth to suck hard on John's neck as his hand slipped down to grab John's arse.

John bucked up against Sherlock. "Is that a promise?" he asked breathlessly, his own hands moving along Sherlock's bare back and gripping his arse as well. Then they slid around to the front. He flipped them again and worked on getting Sherlock's trousers open. 

"You are a pervert," Sherlock mumbled as he lifted his hips to get his trousers off. He fumbled towards John's, tugging and pulling stupidly. "Hurry up," he said.

"M'not," John murmured, pushing his trousers off. As soon as they were naked, their arms and legs tangled awkwardly on the bed. Sherlock moved so they lay side by side and reached down to stroke John's cock, a little sloppily at first before he began a steady rhythm. John reached out to do the same, gazing at their hands and at Sherlock's cock. He looked up again and kissed his mouth hard.

"That's good," Sherlock said. "All that practicing on yourself has paid off," he added before dropping his mouth to John's neck. He sucked hard before moving down and licking across John's collarbone. He paused there and then tried to shift himself so he could suck on one of John's nipples while still maintaining his stroke. 

John sighed loudly, arching his back as he tried to keep his hand moving steadily. Sherlock bit lightly before nuzzling the nipple softly. His head was a bit clouded with desire and urges he hadn't felt in a long time. He pushed John flat against the mattress now, climbing on top of him. He sucked on John's other nipple and then started to kiss down his stomach as his hand found John's cock again and he continued stroking. John laced his fingers into Sherlock's hair, tugging lightly as he squirmed underneath him. Sherlock kept moving lower until he was hovering above John's cock. He exhaled over it before lifting it with one hand and sliding it into his mouth. He let his tongue swirl over it before he began bobbing up and down, humming as he tasted John.

John moaned loudly, gripping Sherlock's hair tighter. "God...Sherlock, that's perfect..."

Sherlock lifted his head. "Of course it is," he smiled. "I know what I'm doing." He licked at John again and then moved up his body, kissing his way. His hand went back to stroking John's now wet cock.

"Don't stop," John murmured, touching Sherlock's cheek. 

"Bossy," Sherlock mumbled but lowered himself down to suck him again. He let his hand explore between John's legs as he did, rubbing and touching as he pushed John's legs further apart. John tipped his head back, moaning as Sherlock continued. When the heat was building steadily, quickly, he tugged Sherlock's hair. 

Sherlock moaned at that touch. How had John never touched his hair before? He found himself grinding against the bed a little as he continued to suck John's cock. He lifted his head. "Please . . . I need something . . ." he said rather desperately.

"Come up here," John said thickly, lifting himself to get on top of Sherlock. He moved along his body, kissing his way down. 

"Just stop talking and hurry up," Sherlock said, lying back and pushing on John's shoulder a bit.

"Be patient," John scolded playfully even as he licked a long stripe up Sherlock's cock. He wrapped his mouth around the head before sliding down the shaft.

"Fuck," Sherlock said, arching up instinctively. He hadn't felt that feeling in so long. "God," he said, making himself lift his head to look down. "You're good at that." 

John hummed as he set a steady rhythm, taking Sherlock deep into his mouth. 

"God," Sherlock repeated, this time loudly. He reached down and rested his hand on John's head. "That feels incredibly good, John Watson," he announced. He lay back down and let his hips rock a little with John's movements. John moaned around Sherlock as he licked at the tip, bobbing down in slower, deeper movements. 

Sherlock took a few deep breaths, sinking down into the bed. It felt good. Too good actually -- he could so easily just let go and come and fall to sleep in that feeling. But he wasn't ready for that. "All right," he called out. "I need to . . . I need you to lie down . . ." he stuttered as he tried to push himself up and then lean over to the bedside cabinet.

John crawled up and kissed his mouth again, keeping him from whatever he was reaching for. Sherlock's hands went to cup John's face as he deepened the kiss. He started to pull him down onto the bed but then remembered what he'd been trying to do, so he shifted and leaned for the drawer again. "Lie down and stop distracting me," he said. He grabbed some lube and five condoms and dropped them onto the bed.

"What on earth are you planning?" John grinned.

"What?" Sherlock asked and then noticed the condoms he'd grabbed. "Just a mistake," he smiled as he picked up the lube and poured some into his hand. He moved back down between John's legs and began slicking the area. "You're quite good at all this," he said.

"You too," John said, letting his legs fall open. "You've done this before..."

"Long, long ago," Sherlock said, letting his fingers brush against John's hole. "But I think I still remember how it all works." He leaned over and nuzzled John's cock as he slowly pushed a finger inside.

"Thank God for that," John sighed, arching his body a bit. His fingers made their way into Sherlock's hair again and he tugged rhythmically, moaning softly as he squirmed. 

Sherlock began pumping his finger, soon adding another to help open John. He awkwardly slid his other hand down his own body to hold himself, but had to sit up because he couldn't maintain his balance very well. Eventually, he looked up at John and said, "I need to now," sliding his fingers from his body and reaching for the condom. "Will you stay lying like that?"

John nodded. "I want to watch...I mean, yes. I want to see...what you look like," he rambled. His mind was fuzzy, still tipsy from the drinking and the heat between them. 

"You know what I look like," Sherlock said, rushing to line himself up. As he slowly pushed inside, he made a loud noise -- no words really, just the pleasure causing sounds to erupt. Once he was inside, he leaned over, resting a hand on either side of John's chest. He dropped his mouth to kiss John's and then said, "I need to move now."

John groaned as he was stretched and filled, looping his arms around Sherlock's neck as they kissed. "Move," he murmured against his mouth.

Sherlock began to slowly roll his hips, pushing deeper inside. He tried to keep the movement slow, feeling everything. "Fuck," he moaned, dipping down to kiss John again. John kissed him hard, moving his body with Sherlock's as the heat built and coiled in his belly. 

"God, it's good, John," Sherlock mumbled as his hips picked up speed. He was feeling less and less in control and worried that it wouldn't be long until he exploded. He looked down at John. "Make yourself come," he told him.

John slid one hand between them. "So...bossy..." he panted, smiling wide as he stroked himself in time with Sherlock's movements. He shifted so Sherlock was moving deeper. With another hard kiss to his mouth, John came between them, groaning loudly against his mouth as he shuddered in his climax. 

"Fucking hell, John," Sherlock called and then thrusted hard inside him. He felt like his whole body was frozen in time for a moment and then he returned to normal, panting and sweating over top of John. "God," he exhaled as he dropped down onto him.

John blinked his eyes open to watch Sherlock's face, shivering as he watched the features slacken in pleasure. He was gorgeous. And then they were curled together and panting and sated. 

Once Sherlock's breath was a bit more under control, he said, "I've got to sleep, John." He pushed himself up, got rid of the condom, and then dropped down onto the mattress again. He reached over and held John's arm lightly, mumbling a quick "Good night."

John only hummed a reply, sinking into sleep himself. His body was warm and comfortable, his mind heavy from drinking and pleasure, and he slept soundly through the night.


	2. Hungover

When John woke, his head was pounding. He stifled a small groan -- for some reason he was being quiet on purpose. He couldn't remember why...he hadn't brought anyone home. He had left with Sherlock. And then it came to him. He opened his eyes and recognised the room. Not his. He turned his head to the side and saw Sherlock sleeping soundly beside him. 

No. This couldn't have happened! Sherlock didn't even do this sort of thing. He did it very well last night. John closed his eyes and rubbed his face hard. No. This would be bad. When Sherlock woke up he was going to be angry. He'd accuse John of somehow tricking him, blaming him for the whole night, for not stopping this when he knew Sherlock's preferences on the matter. 

There was only one thing to do. Very carefully, he eased out of the bed. He gathered all of his clothes and, with a glance back, he snuck out. When Sherlock woke up, John would gauge his mood. Sherlock was quite drunk last night, maybe he wouldn't remember what happened. 

Sherlock's mouth woke up before the rest of him did. His dry tongue was pushing against his dry lips until finally he coughed himself awake, the reflex pulling him up off the pillow. His hand went up instinctively, first rubbing his eyes and then holding his pounding head. He was hungover. He shouldn't have drunk so much last night. He shouldn't have even gone out last night. He felt absolutely sick.

He turned to wake John. That was when he realised John was no longer beside him. That didn't make sense. Sherlock lay back down to think for a moment. He was pretty sure he'd remembered having sex with John last night. Had it just been a dream? He'd had dreams like that on occasion since John had moved in. Maybe it was just another dream.

Except . . . it'd really seemed real. He looked round again and saw the bottle of lube and four condoms on the blanket. He sat up and saw the used condom on the floor. He pulled the covers back and saw the dried mess on his belly. Yes, Sherlock Holmes had had sex last night and there was no way he'd done it with anyone else besides John Watson.

He lay back down and tried to remember until he remembered everything. It was nice doing it. It was nice remembering. But clearly John didn't feel the same. That made sense -- John Watson was most definitely not gay. Everyone in London knew that and if they didn't, John would be happy to tell them. Not-gay John Watson had drunken sex with his male flatmate last night and obviously woke up regretting it. Was it because he was disgusted? Ashamed? Angry? Sherlock didn't feel any of those things, but knowing John must made Sherlock feel sad.

John went to take a long shower, replaying the things from last night. He wondered if Sherlock had been surprised, because of everything John had said. In truth, he hadn't been lying, at least not technically. He wasn't gay. But he wasn't straight either. He had been with men before, just not as much as women. He's been bisexual as long as he could remember. But with everyone making comments about Sherlock and their relationship -- comments that probably made Sherlock, who stayed away from it all, uncomfortable -- it just felt easier to separate that part of his life from his friendship with Sherlock. He finished his shower, and he went to start the kettle make a greasy breakfast. 

Sherlock lay there feeling sad and sick, wondering how he should handle this. Clearly, John would rather pretend it didn't happen, so perhaps that's what Sherlock should do as well. When he heard John in the kitchen and shortly thereafter smelled bacon and eggs, Sherlock knew he had to get up. He wasn't sure if breakfast was making him feel hungry or more nauseous, but either way he had to get up and face this. He rolled out of bed, wrapped his dressing gown around him, and went out to the kitchen.

"Morning," he mumbled, heading first for the bathroom to use the toilet and clean up. When he came back out, he went in and made a cup of tea.

John looked around at Sherlock, trying to read his mood. "Good morning," he said. "My head is killing me -- my own fault, I know. How're you feeling?" The casual words sounded odd, but he didn't know what else to say. 

"Sick actually," Sherlock said, taking a slow drink of tea. "I can't decide if your breakfast is making me worse or not." He glanced over. "Are you really going to eat all that?"

"Greasy food is good for you after drinking. We should have eaten something before we left the pub."

"Well, I think it might smell disgusting," Sherlock said, sitting down at the table. "Should I take a tablet or something? My head's pounding."

"You can. This will help faster," John smiled. He didn't notice any reaction when last night was mentioned. Maybe Sherlock really didn't remember. 

Sherlock got up and grabbed some paracetemol from the cupboard. He sat back down and took a piece of bacon off John's plate. "Are you working today?" he asked. He glanced over at John and remembered what it was like to kiss him so he quickly looked down at the food, which made his stomach churn a bit.

"No, I took the day off because I knew what the night would be like." He glanced at Sherlock again for any sign. 

"Well, I wish I'd known that so much drinking was required," Sherlock said, nicking another piece of bacon. "I would have prepared better . . . or not gone with you."

John looked down quickly. Not gone because of what happened between them? Was he trying to spare John's feelings by not even mentioning it? "Well, eat up. I promise you'll feel better."

"We'll see," Sherlock said. He got up and grabbed a fork, taking a few bites of John's eggs. "Did you deliberately make too much so that I could eat some?" he asked.

John smiled. "Maybe," he said. 

Sherlock smiled back. "You always --" he started, but then stopped. If they were supposed to be forgetting about having sex last night, saying John always took care of him was not the right thing to say. "You always make too much food," he finished, a bit stupidly.

"Well, yeah," John said, patting his belly and smiling wider. 

Sherlock thought about John's belly. He thought about kissing it and kissing down it and . . . he stood up quickly. "I think I'll have a shower," he said, turning quickly and putting his mug in the sink. He rushed off into the bathroom.

John watched him run off, wondering if he was going to be sick. He didn't seem to remember anything, but John didn't know how he felt about that. He couldn't stop thinking about it. He imagined Sherlock in the shower now, saw his body clearly. He felt his cheeks warm, so he focused on his breakfast again. 

Sherlock turned on the water and stepped into the shower. He looked up into the hot water -- it felt good to rinse off, but even the pressure of the water hurt his head a bit. He thought about John, hoping he didn't feel bad about himself. He didn't want John to get worked up over what had happened -- feeling bad he'd done something he obviously was pretty uptight about doing. He poured some shampoo into his hand and rubbed it gently through his hair. The more he thought about John, though, the more confused he got. Why was John always going on about not being gay when clearly last night wasn't the first time he'd been with a man? Had something bad happened to him? It didn't seem likely -- John was a man who wore his traumas on his sleeve and last night he'd seemed pretty comfortable and eager.

The only other thing he could think of that would cause John's defensiveness every time someone made a comment about their being a couple was Sherlock himself. Maybe it wasn't the gay issue at all. Maybe the issue was being gay for Sherlock. Fair enough -- Sherlock knew he was socially inept and not always thoughtful or kind. Maybe being with him in that way was just too embarrassing for John. Sherlock looked back up into the water. He felt sad again. 

John cleaned his plate and went to the sitting room, texting Greg to make sure that he was feeling okay. Then he sat in the quiet for a while before he couldn't take it anymore. He turned on the telly. Thinking about what happened over and over wouldn't change anything. It clearly wasn't going to happen again. Sherlock didn't do that sort of thing. But last night he'd been...good. John sank into his chair and turned up the telly. The way he moved with John, confident, knowing exactly what he wanted...when John realised he was still thinking about it, he turned the telly up even louder. 

Eventually Sherlock realised he couldn't stand in the shower all day so he stepped out and dried off. He put his dressing gown around him and slipped into his room. He didn't fancy getting dressed so he just put on a clean pair of pajamas. He tidied up the room, hiding away the lube and condoms. He grabbed the book from his bedside cabinet and went back out to the kitchen to make a new cup of tea and took it with his book to his chair. "Mind if I read out here?" he asked, doing his best to have a normal face on.

John shook his head. "Of course not," he said. 

Sherlock looked at his book for a little bit, but the television was quite loud and his head still hurt and it was hard to focus. "The shower was a good idea. You should take one," he said. Then he worried that John would think that that meant something, like an invitation to be naked in the same place that Sherlock was just naked, so he quickly added, "If you want, I mean, I'm not saying you have to, do whatever you want." Which he realised was completely unnecessary to say actually, but it was already said.

"I took one this morning," John said. "It did help." 

"Right," Sherlock said. He looked back at his book, but the television was still annoying him. Actually, John was annoying him a little -- Sherlock had never liked John's insistence on the whole 'I'm-not-gay' thing but he'd tolerated it. And now, after last night, John just wanted to go back to that? He honestly thought they could just go back and just pretend it never happened? The more Sherlock thought about it, the more it didn't seem that nice at all actually. He made a little humph and dramatically focused on his book.

"Is it still too loud?" John asked, turning the volume down lower.

Sherlock looked up, but didn't really feel satisfied. Sure, his feelings on something stupid like television volume can be acknowledged by John but something more important? Nothing. "I didn't force you to do it, you know," Sherlock said a bit angrily.

Ice cold dread flooded John's body. "What?" he asked, as if he hadn't heard what Sherlock said. As if he was confused about what Sherlock was referring to. 

Sherlock saw the change in John's face. He hated it and hated that he had caused it. Yes, maybe Sherlock's own feelings were a bit hurt but Sherlock was bad at feelings so maybe he was just confused, and the last thing he wanted to do was make John panic like that whenever he said something. "I meant the television," he said. "You didn't have to turn it down just for me. . ." He looked down at this book again.

John huffed out a hard breath, blinking rapidly in a sad attempt to clear his head. "Oh, I...it's fine," he said. "I don't mind."

"All right," Sherlock said. He sat for a little while staring at the book, but not really reading the words. Eventually he realised he needed more tea and stood up to get another cup. "Want one?" he called to John.

"Okay, yeah," John said, glancing at Sherlock as he passed. "Does your head feel better?"

"Not really," Sherlock said. "I suppose I just don't feel very well at all, actually. I might take a nap after this, I guess. I'm not particularly keen on feeling this way."

"Oh, okay. I hope that helps," John said, shifting in his chair. 

Sherlock poured the tea and stood over the mugs, feeling the warm vapour rise up against his skin. He wondered if John would come in and lie down with him. He knew he wouldn't. Then he wondered what John would say if Sherlock made him at least acknowledge what had happened. In truth, he didn't want to hear John say what Sherlock knew he'd say. He turned and carried a mug over to John.

"Thanks," John said, taking the mug. Before he realised he was doing it, he was careful not to touch Sherlock's skin as if that would somehow bring back the memories from last night. He wondered if he would have to leave if Sherlock were to remember. How angry would he be? Would he be disgusted? Would he be disappointed? He cleared his throat softly and held the mug with both hands in his lap. 

"I think I'll go in my room, okay?" Sherlock asked, even though it wasn't a question at all. He took his book and tea and carried into his room. He set those things on his bedside table and climbed under the covers. He leaned against the headboard and lifted the tea to his mouth, taking a large sip. He stared out into the emptiness of the room.

It smelled like sex. Sex that he and John had last night. How were they ever going to get past this? Was getting past it even what Sherlock wanted to do?

John sank into the chair when Sherlock left the room, not realising how tense he had been. If he didn't forget about it like Sherlock had, they would never be normal again. But how could he forget? He actually didn't want to, and that was the problem.


	3. Not Talking

Sherlock opened his eyes. His book was on his chest and his mug was lying next to him. Fortunately it was empty. He must have fallen asleep. He actually felt physically better, but he hadn't forgotten the upset in the flat. He put the mug on the table but lay there, listening to see if he could figure out what John was doing.

John had dozed for a bit before he made himself get up. He went out for a walk, just staying close to the flat before coming back to make dinner. He would actually cook something, hoping that focusing on that would get his mind off of everything going on. He just had to be normal. 

Sherlock heard John in the kitchen, probably cooking because John always did that. John always took care of Sherlock. He did actually -- in so many ways, they were like a couple. And then last night . . . no, he needed to shake that off. If John was going to act like it hadn't happened, Sherlock had to do so as well. He got up and put his dressing gown on again and went out to the kitchen.

"What are you making?" he said, putting his cup in the sink. "Sorry for sleeping so long."

"Roasted potatoes with chicken and asparagus," he said. "It's okay. You probably woke up too early -- that can make you feel sick as well. Do you feel better?"

"I guess so," Sherlock said, fiddling with the asparagus spears. "How about you? Are you still upset?"

John looked over at him with his brows furrowed. "What? I wasn't upset," he said. "My head does feel better."

"Yeah, headache, that's what I meant," Sherlock said, now memorising the asparagus spears. "Well, look we can't just be miserable all day because someone we know had a birthday. We know people who have birthdays all the time and there's no reason this should be any different." He poured a cup of tea and moved towards the sitting room. "Should we watch a film or something while we eat?"

"It's not so much the birthday part but the hungover part," John said after him. "Pick something you will like so you're not pouting," he said. 

"I'll pick something, but I'm still permitted to pout if I so choose," Sherlock said. He went over and pulled the first DVD he saw on the shelf. "This one," he said. "It's one of your spy films. Besides if you don't like it, it's your fault for buying it." He carried it over to the sofa and flopped down.

John came to sit while everything baked in the oven. "A Bond film? You are going to be extra pouty," he said as it started. 

"I was already planning to be, regardless of what we were watching," Sherlock said. "I'm hungover. This is how I act when I'm hungover. If you don't like what happens when I've had too much to drink, you shouldn't have invited me out." He put the cup up to his mouth and then pushed play on the remote.

John flushed and forced his gaze away, glancing towards the kitchen instead. How could Sherlock give him so much grief without even remembering what happened? If he had remembered, God knows what John would be suffering now. 

Sherlock slid down the sofa and put his feet on the table. He tried to pay attention to the film though within five minutes he saw two implausible details that ruined the entire thing for him. He tried to think of something else. He realised he hadn't really looked at John since he'd woken up from his nap -- he looked near him or around him but not really at him. He turned his head now and looked at John. Unfortunately it made him think of last night so he turned his head back to the screen.

"What?" John asked, keeping his eyes on the screen. 

"Nothing," Sherlock said. "Sorry . . ."

John glanced over without turning his head. When he looked at the screen, a small bubble of dread rose into his chest. He forgot that Bond movies weren't just explosions and gun fights. There was sex as well. He clenched his jaw, sitting unnaturally still. 

"He shouldn't be drinking so much if there's a chance he's going to have to operate a firearm," Sherlock said. He watched the man on the screen walk up to a woman wearing a sparkly dress and touch her lower back. "Oh, I see," he said. His eyes flicked a way from the television and around the room instead, but when he looked back, the man and woman were pushed up against the door of a dark room, kissing each other roughly. "You know," he said awkwardly, looking down at his feet. "These films are ridiculous . . . I don't know why you like them."

John only hummed in reply. He waited a moment longer. "I should check on dinner," he said, pushing himself up and leaving the room. The scene wouldn't be very long, but it would feel like years if he had to sit and watch it now, after what had happened. He took his time with the food, moving things around unnecessarily. When he came back, the scene was over. 

Sherlock watched John leave and then return as soon as the sex scene had finished, which he was pretty sure was not a coincidence. So now John couldn't even the bear the idea of sex with a woman? Had Sherlock put him off all of it now? "When's the food going to be ready?" he asked because he could not think of anything else to say.

"Ten more minutes," John said. He kept his eyes on the telly still.

"Why do you like these films?" Sherlock asked.

"They're entertaining," he shrugged. "Exciting."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You and I have very different definitions of the word exciting, I think," Sherlock said and then swallowed awkwardly. Why did everything he said seem to have some sexual meaning? "What are we eating anyway?" he asked to change the subject.

"I told you already," said. The timer went off and John stood, leaving Sherlock alone again. He turned off the oven, arranged everything on plates and came back.

Sherlock shifted on the sofa. "I'm sorry -- I just forgot," he said. "Are we having a fight or something?"

John handed Sherlock his plate. "No, I told you I'm not upset." But he knew his voice sounded different, not normal. He didn't blame Sherlock for thinking he was upset. "Sorry. I'm just...I'm still not 100% from last night . . . from the party."

"Well . . . it's . . . you shouldn't drink so much if you're doing to be upset the next day . . ." Sherlock mumbled, moving the food about his plate. He stabbed a piece of asparagus with his fork and bit at the end.

John's jaw tightened again. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, his voice strained for casual.

Sherlock groaned a little. "This is really unpleasant, you know," he muttered under his breath.

John forced himself to ask. "What is?"

"Just . . . the film," Sherlock said. "It's fine . . . forget I said anything." He took another bite of food. "Thanks for dinner, anyway."

John swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "I'm glad you're eating," he said, focusing on his own plate. 

"I'm sure you are," Sherlock said even though he wasn't quite sure what he meant by that. When Sherlock finished his food and when it looked like some more romantic action might take place on the screen, he took his plate to the kitchen and put the kettle on. He tried listening closely to the television to gauge when the scene was over. He wished the whole film was over, but why? What then? Was this how it was going to be forever?

John watched Sherlock walk off as the scene turned sensual again. He dropped his head back on the sofa and sighed softly. 

Sherlock brought two cups of tea back in. He sat down slightly awkwardly. "God, my fucking back hurts," he said and then cursed again when he realised he'd spilt some of his tea. "When is this film going to be over?"

John turned the film off. "Now. I'm going to bed, I think." He took one sip from his tea and stood up.

"It's because of you," Sherlock said quickly.

John paused mid stretch, turning to look at Sherlock. "What is?"

"The reason my back hurts," Sherlock said, not looking up at John. "It's fine, we're not going to talk about it, it's fine. But I just wanted to say it." He stood up as well. "We don't have to talk about it -- I just wanted to say it." He moved to his bedroom.

John had only just realised what Sherlock had said when Sherlock was gone, locked away in his room. He remembered. It wasn't even a question. All day he had remembered what happened between them and he had said nothing. Was he angry? He seemed to be angry at John for not mentioning it. But why? Sherlock wasn't into sex. Hadn't John been doing him a favour by not bringing it up? John swallowed hard and went up to his room. He didn't know what any of this meant. He didn't know what to do.

Sherlock sat down on his bed. He worried about what he'd just done. He turned off the light and lay back on the bed. But the bed was where it happened. He could remember everything that had happened last night. He didn't regret it even if John did. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it. But he couldn't stop.

John paced back and forth in his room. He was replaying the whole day -- every one of Sherlock's comments. Of course he knew. Of course he remembered. What did he think about John? Did he think John didn't remember? His face flushed as he realised Sherlock had woken up alone. It made his chest hurt. He should have stayed. They should have talked about it.

Sherlock sat up. This was too much. He reached for his phone.

_We have to talk about it. SH_


	4. Talking

John went down to Sherlock's room, knocking softly on the door.

"Come in," Sherlock said. He pulled the covers up around him in what he knew was a quite childish manner. When John opened the door, he added, "Just so you know -- I won't be forcing you into doing anything. You're not in any danger of being gay just because you come in here."

John flushed. "Don't...don't say that," he said. "I woke up and I thought you'd be angry. You don't do this -- you don't like this sort of thing. I thought that you would blame me, accuse me of having no self control and taking advantage. It was wrong to leave and pretend it never happened. I'm sorry about that."

"Obviously you were wrong to leave," Sherlock said. "You should have . . . you could have told me sorry at least."

John stepped back towards the door. "Right," he muttered. "Well, I'm sorry." He turned and left the room, heat flooding his body. He felt ashamed and embarrassed.

"So you're just going to run away again then?" Sherlock called after him.

"I'm not going to stand here and have you accuse me," John called. "Last night you wanted it too. If I had thought...it doesn't matter. If you want to forget it, then let's just forget it."

"You're the one who wants to forget it," Sherlock said. "You spent all day trying to forget -- like running away from it means it never happened. Now you've come in here just to hurt me again and you're running away to pretend it didn't happen." He sat back in the bed. "I don't understand you, John."

John came back into the room. "You've never given any indication that you would be happy with something like that. I thought you couldn't even remember it, so I was going to let it go. You want to talk about it? Fine. Start talking."

"I've not given indication I'd be happy with that? Last night when I was kissing you -- you didn't read that as indication?" Sherlock said.

"I meant before," John mumbled.

Sherlock exhaled loudly. "When I woke up, I remembered but unlike you, I didn't regret it," he said. "That's why you ran away and then pretended it didn't happen." He fiddled with the covers. "Which was kind of mean actually," he added quietly.

"I didn't...I don't regret it. I got up and left because I wanted to give you the chance to pretend it hadn't happened. In case you were angry that it had. We were drinking. You never would have done that with me sober."

Sherlock lifted his head and looked up at him. "How do you know that?" he asked.

"You said it. You said you were married to your work and didn't have time for all of that," John said.

"And yet I have always had time for you," Sherlock said. "Since the first day we met, I may have complained sometimes, but I have always had time for you . . . did you stop to think about why that was?"

John flushed darker. "I...we're friends," he murmured.

"I don't have friends, John," Sherlock said. "I just have you."

"So...so what then? What are you saying? You want last night to happen again? That's what you want us to be now?" he asked.

"But you aren't like that, are you? Except when you're drunk, it appears . . . so we can't be like that now, can we?"

"I wasn't that drunk. I mean...I knew what I was doing. I wanted to do it." John looked around the room. "I have before. I've always liked both. When I said...I said I wasn't gay to stop people making comments about us so that you wouldn't be uncomfortable, seeing as you don't like any of that."

"But you know now that I do like some of it," Sherlock said. "Don't you?"

John looked up at him again. "And you'd like it again? With me? We wouldn't be just friends anymore..."

"You were never just a friend to me, John Watson," Sherlock said. "Please get better at paying attention . . ."

John flushed again. "I've thought about it before...and then it was happening and I was too selfish to stop. But I thought without the drinking to loosen your inhibitions or mine...I don't know. I didn't mean to make you think I regretted it. I only regretted...thinking that I'd upset you."

"That's what I mean about paying attention," Sherlock said. "Leaving me this morning -- your effort to keep from upsetting me . . . well, it . . . upset me."

John moved into the room and climbed into Sherlock's bed. He faced him and studied his face for a moment. "I was trying to get used to the idea that it was a one time thing and it was very difficult. It was so good with you. It was...I want to be like that with you."

"Wouldn't it have been easier to talk to me about it?" Sherlock said, turning to look at him. "You know how I'm famously easy to talk to." He smiled. "I don't even mean that we have to talk . . . you just shouldn't have not talked."

"You didn't bring it up either," John pointed out.

"I meant this morning," Sherlock said. "When I woke up and you were gone . . . it became clear you didn't want to talk so I didn't either."

They were idiots, John realised. "I made an assumption. I won't again."

"I made one, too, I guess," Sherlock said. "But, of course, mine was based on evidence." He sat back against the headboard, realising he was a bit more relaxed. "So sex . . . you'd be interested in that kind of stuff again?"

John nodded. "Yeah, I would be."

Sherlock slid down the bed a little, pulling the covers up close to his face. "It was good last night, right?" he asked quietly.

John scooted down to lie facing Sherlock. "It was really good," he nodded.

"I thought so," Sherlock said. "Will you have to be drunk the next time it happens?"

John shook his head. "I'd prefer not to be," he said.

"I won't be drinking again for a long while," Sherlock said. "So I hope my being drunk isn't essential to you."

"No, it isn't." John smiled. He reached out and touched Sherlock's hand.

"So . . . what now?"

"Now...you're my boyfriend," he smiled.

"Fine," Sherlock said. He rolled over on his side away from John. "Good night then," he added. He lay there silently but pushed one of his legs back to press against John a bit.

John blinked at the back of his head. He shifted and sat up. "I have to get ready for bed," he said, getting out of bed.

"John Watson," Sherlock said seriously. "Don't you dare leave me alone in this bed again."

"I'm not! I didn't realise we were going to sleep! I have to clean my teeth and change and use the toilet," he said.

Sherlock sat up dramatically. "But then you'll come back, right? Say it and mean it," he said.

"Of course I'm going to come back. To sleep with you. Close to you."

"That answer is acceptable to me," Sherlock said. "Bring back a cup of tea, would you?" He smiled and snuggled down to wait.


	5. Not Drunk

John smiled and started the kettle before he went to get ready for bed. He put on his pajama bottoms and a t-shirt before stopping into the bathroom. When he finished he poured Sherlock's tea and brought it to him, climbing into his bed. 

"Took you long enough," Sherlock said. "Thanks for the tea." He smiled and took a sip. "So, we're going to sleep in the same bed . . . any thoughts on that?"

John smiled. "Only good ones."

"And sex? Are you thinking about doing sex again?" Sherlock asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"According to you that's what I'm always thinking about," John grinned. 

"Are you thinking about it right now?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "Seeing as we're talking about it."

"Did you like all of it?" Sherlock asked, his voice going a little quieter. "Did we leave anything out that you'd like us to do?"

John shook his head. "I loved all of it," he said. He reached out and touched Sherlock's hand again, remembering those fingers around his cock.

"Good, I'm glad I did it all right," Sherlock said. "Should I do some of that now, do you think?"

John met his gaze. "Do you want to? I would like that," he admitted softly. 

Sherlock got himself comfortable. He slid his hand under the covers and rested it on John's hip. He rocked it back and forth a little. "Remember?" he whispered.

John nodded, taking in a careful breath. "I remember you touching lower..."

"Like here?" Sherlock asked, sliding his hand down John's leg to behind his knee.

John smiled softly. "I'll show you," he said, reaching under the covers and palming Sherlock's cock. 

"Hmmm," Sherlock moaned a little. He moved his hand round front and palmed John's cock as well. "This is nice," he said about stupidly.

John nodded. "Yes. And maybe if we moved some of these clothes..."

Sherlock immediately started stripping off his pajamas. "Hurry up," he said, looking over at John.

"Eager, are you?" John asked, pulling his shirt over his head and then pushing his pajama bottoms down. 

"I am actually," Sherlock said. "It's been a long time and now you've got me interested again." He reached over and held John's cock. "Maybe I'll put it in my mouth. What do you think?"

"I think that's a brilliant idea," John moaned softly. 

Sherlock slid down the bed under the covers. He lifted John's cock and softly covered it with kisses before sliding it into his mouth, sucking slowly and gently.

"Oh..." John moaned, squirming lightly. It was better than he remembered. 

Sherlock moved slowly, sucking up and down as he started gently rubbing John's thighs. John tangled his fingers in his curls, tugging on them, moaning louder. Sherlock's hand slipped behind John, gripping his arse, rocking him slightly, taking him deeper.

"Fuck Sherlock..." John moaned, bucking up into his mouth. He pulled at Sherlock's hair harder. 

Sherlock hummed around John. He squirmed a bit, pressing himself against John's legs. It all felt so good and natural and warm and just good, being so connected with John like this.

"Want...I want to taste you..." John panted softly, lifting himself up a bit to look down. 

Sherlock looked up and smiled. "Well, come on then," he said, wiggling up the bed.

John kissed him first, holding his hair to deepen it. Then he pulled back, kissed his way hungrily down Sherlock's body, pausing just before his cock. "Better than I remember," he murmured, taking Sherlock into his mouth. 

Sherlock exhaled loudly. "Fuck, John," he moaned, reaching down and squeezing John's shoulder. "God, it's . . . fantastic." He closed his eyes and let the warmth take over his body.

John moved fluidly up and down, taking Sherlock deep, humming around his cock add his hand rolled and tugged his balls lightly. 

"God, I could come so easily," Sherlock moaned. He rocked his hips gently. "Why did you keep this talent hidden from me?" he asked smiling down at John.

John just smiled back, kissing his thighs and biting the skin softly. 

"I like the bites . . . like that, though, don't get carried away," Sherlock said, squeezing his shoulder again.

John grinned and licked Sherlock's thigh, blowing cool air before nipping softly again. 

Sherlock made a small growl in his throat. "Will you do this with me every night?" he moaned softly.

"For the rest of our lives, if you want," John murmured, nipping at a different spot and licking it second. 

That sounded good to Sherlock. How had John done this to him -- turned him into a man who wanted to hear those words? "Come up and kiss me," he said, pulling on John's arm.

John crawled back up Sherlock's body and crashed his mouth a bit hard to Sherlock's.

"This is what I want," Sherlock mumbled into the kiss. He moved his mouth over John's face, kissing and licking and tasting.

John's head fell back a bit. "Me too..." He murmured. He reached for the lube and the four condoms. "Open me up while I kiss you," he said, finding Sherlock's mouth again. 

Sherlock leaned forward, pushing John onto his back and crawling over him. He sat up a bit as he poured some lube into his hand. He reached down and spread it between John's legs, rubbing over his hole a few times before slowly pushing in a finger. "God," he said. "I like seeing your face when I do that."

John moaned softly, grinning up at him. "I was going to ride you," he said moving his body into Sherlock's finger. 

"I'm open to that suggestion," Sherlock said cheekily. He began to pump his finger before slipping a second one inside. He leaned down and kissed John hungrily. John buried both hands into his hair as they kissed, matching Sherlock in ferocity as he moaned into his mouth. 

Sherlock slipped his fingers from John and lay down on his back beside him. "Condom," he said. "Hurry . . ." He stroked himself as he waited for John to hand him one.

"Not all four?" John grinned, tearing one off and handing it to Sherlock. 

Sherlock smiled and then rolled the condom on. "Come on," he said. "I don't know how long I'm going to last . . ." He reached for John to encourage him to move.

John straddled his hips and reached for Sherlock's cock, lining up before sinking down slowly. "Fuck," John sighed, sitting all the way down. He pressed his forehead to Sherlock's. Instead of moving up and down, first he started with rolling his hips, keeping Sherlock deep. 

Sherlock called out as he pushed into John. "Jesus," he moaned, opening his eyes to look at John. He reached his hands to the back of John head and kissed him hard. "I love you," he mumbled, kissing him again.

A small whine left John's throat. "You...what?" he asked softly, rolling his hips harder. 

"Just --" Sherlock mumbled. He reached down and started stroking John's cock, trying to match the rhythm of John's own movements.

John paused and stilled Sherlock's hand. "Hey..." he murmured softly. "I love you, too." He kissed Sherlock again, now lifting and lowering his hips quickly. 

"Good," Sherlock said. He kissed John back and went back to stroking him. He tried to move his hips as well. His skin was hot and damp with sweat.

Swears mixed with Sherlock's name spilled from John's mouth as he moved up and down, rolling his hips, taking Sherlock over and over into his body. It was incredible, so much more now that he had all of his senses. "Fuck...Sherlock...m'close..."

Sherlock just let himself go now -- their bodies were a bit frantic on the bed but it didn't matter because it all felt good and then he was coming, arching up off the bed and calling John's name loudly.

John gasped and shivered over Sherlock, letting go and coming as he called out Sherlock's name. He squeezed around Sherlock, keeping him deep as he slowly settled, panting softly. 

Sherlock pulled John down on top of him. "Don't leave this time," he said softly through his rough breathing. He turned his head to kiss John's cheek.

"I'm...I'm not going anywhere..." John said. 

Sherlock shifted them, getting rid of the condom and then turning to curl around John. "This is good, right?" he whispered. "This is a good thing, yeah?"

John nodded, holding him close. "It's a good thing," he nodded. 

"Good," Sherlock said. "Let's go to sleep now. Doing sex all the time is exhausting me." He smiled a little and cuddled him again.

"Let's sleep," he nodded, closing his eyes. "Let's sleep," he repeated.


	6. Morning

Sherlock let his eyes closed and he slept more restfully than he had in a long time. John slept soundly, deeply, waking up in the morning still wrapped around Sherlock. That was how it should have been. He smiled and buried into Sherlock, closing his eyes again. He slept again, maybe an hour more, before shifting again. He needed to use the bathroom. He gently disentangled himself. He put his pants on and stumbled out of the room, sleepy and sated. 

"John?"

John, in the middle of rubbing his eyes, looked up. Mrs Hudson was standing in the doorway, with Lestrade. 

"Greg says there's a case," she said, looking between him and Sherlock's room. She was grinning. Greg didn't know where to look. 

"I...I'll wake him," John said. He paused. "Don't tease him too much," he said, but Mrs Hudson was already giggling. John went into bedroom, touching Sherlock's shoulder. "Sherlock?"

"You left again," Sherlock said, slowly waking himself up. "Get back in bed." He pulled on John's arm.

"I just went to the bathroom but Greg's here...there's a case," he said, resisting falling into bed again. But only just. 

"Good," Sherlock said, stretching a little. He slid out of the bed and put his pajamas and dressing gown on before heading out of the room. He nodded to Lestrade and noticed Mrs Hudson so he said good morning to her. He moved to put the kettle on and turned around. "Why are you both smiling so stupidly?" he asked.

John was still in his pants, smiling softly.

Greg smiled wider. "Had a good night?"

"What?" Sherlock asked, slowly realising what was happening. "Oh right, I see," he said. He looked at Mrs Hudson whose grin was so wide it might fall off her face. "All right, so everyone knows now. Fine." He looked over at John and then back at their guests. "This is new so don't go thinking you had it all figured out," he said. "But yes, this has happened. Fine. Can we discuss the case now?"

John grinned. "I'm going to put clothes on while you figure it out." He kissed Sherlock's cheek, causing more giggles from Mrs Hudson, before he went into the bedroom.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He glanced at Mrs Hudson to dismiss her. She came over and put a kiss on his cheek. "I did know it," she smiled. "But I'm not going to gloat." He watched her go and then made a cup of tea for Lestrade. "There's something about a case?" he asked him, bringing it to the table and setting it down.

John put his clothes on and came out to the kitchen where they were sitting. Sherlock was looking at a file so John moved behind him to look as well, resting his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, near the nape of his neck. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubbed slowly, lightly. 

Greg looked over at them and smiled. "I knew this would happen. I saw it months ago," he mumbled under his breath as he pretended to focus on the papers he was holding.

Sherlock too kept his face down. "Right," he said. "You figured that out but you've got no ideas about the case I'm currently looking at? Perhaps you should quit the force and go into matchmaking."

"Shut up, Sherlock," Greg said, smiling over at John. "You needed me to get this going," he said, motioning towards John’s hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. "And I need the two of you to get this case going."

"Fine," Sherlock said, picking up the paper and turning to John. "All right, partner, shall we get this going?"


End file.
